


Unburden

by fereldanwench



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Curl Appreciation, Drug Withdrawal, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Grooming, Long-Distance Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, OTP Affirmation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldanwench/pseuds/fereldanwench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke washes Cullen's hair.</p><p>[Featuring my Hawke and Cullen from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/993952/chapters/1965672">In the Pursuit of Freedom</a> (unfinished; follows the scope of DA2) and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1993551">Morning Run</a> (one shot; mid-DA2).]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unburden

Rhiannon spotted Cullen's tower opposite the bridge from Skyhold's central keep.

From her vantage point, she could see he was hunched over his desk, his head tilted down with a pointed finger stretched forward. The assertive rumbling of his voice traveled across the overpass, followed by the sight of an Inquisition-armored scout scurrying down the stairs and racing in her direction. Rhiannon smiled to herself and shook her head; she had lost count of how many times she had walked upon similar sights in Kirkwall's Gallows. The Champion offered a terse but sympathetic nod to the frantic guard, but the gesture went unnoticed.

She shifted the thick, Fereldan furs that wrapped around her shoulders and waist, and leaned against the door frame. Rhiannon pressed her forehead to the cool stone, idly chewing her bottom lip while she watched Cullen, oblivious to her presence.

"You changed your hair," Rhiannon finally observed aloud.

Cullen startled, his mouth in a scowl ready for a proper reprimand, but his lips slacked and eyes softened when he saw her.

Rhiannon had arrived at Skyhold almost a week earlier, but the burden of duty continued to keep them at a distance. Cullen's focus never strayed far from his obligations as the Inquisition's commander--Training new soldiers, assigning current agents, and coordinating missions with his colleagues had kept him just out of her reach. Rhiannon, meanwhile, was accosted as soon as she left her chambers, whether by Cassandra, Varric, Josephine, the tavern bard, or anyone else seeking to learn more about the illusive Champion and former Viscount of Kirkwall.

She supposed it was a poor greeting after over a year of only written correspondence. When she watched his hand go to the back of his neck, his fingers rubbing his straightened hair, she grinned and supposed it would do just fine.

"You don't approve," he replied casually, as if she had never left his side. 

Rhiannon pursed her lips with a sly consideration and shrugged as she walked to his desk. She still had her confident gait, her hips dipping with each step, but the swagger was amplified in his presence.

"You've always been handsome," Rhiannon said softly.

Cullen snorted quietly and turned his face away from her. The blush she had grown so fond of fanned across his neck and jaw, and she caught his smirk, a reluctant pride curling his scarred mouth.

Rhiannon settled on the rim of his desk, mindful of the bottles and inkstand and other assorted knickknacks that lined the wooden edge. She reached for him, ignoring the tiny voice of reluctance in the back of her mind, and gently brushed the hair above his left ear. When he leaned into her touch, she ran her fingertips through his locks, letting her nails glide through the slick pomade. A content, almost inaudible whimper escaped his throat, and his lashes lowered slowly.

"I heard you quit lyrium. My father had awful headaches whenever he had to stop taking it," Rhiannon said. She gently pressed the pad of her thumb to his temple, his skin clammy from a thin film of sweat. "Do you?"

"Yes," he answered honestly. Cullen reached forward, his fingers stretching for her leg, but she was just out of his grasp. He opened his eyes and looked into hers instead. "But it's nothing I can't endure," he promised.

Rhiannon nodded solemnly. She was proud of his conviction and had no doubt that he would see his decision realized, but that it was even a decision he had to make would always be distressing. Rhiannon continued to brush his hair with her fingers, until she saw that her ministrations had botched his meticulously styled coif.

"Do you have a washing basin in here?" Rhiannon asked, her tone almost playful.

Cullen furrowed his brow and pointed upwards. "In the loft. Why?"

She grinned. "I have an idea."

Rhiannon slipped off the desk and wiped the oil from her hand onto her leather pants. She walked to the door left of his desk and bolted it shut.

"Wait--" Cullen began to protest.

"They can do without you for twenty minutes," she insisted before he could articulate any more words. Rhiannon stepped to the door she had entered, pulling on the handle with one hand while the other pointed at the ladder. "Upstairs."

Cullen waved an open hand at the papers on his desk. "I have--"

"-- _Upstairs_ ," Rhiannon ordered again, using her Viscount-crafted pitch of authority on him.

She locked the last door and heard his chair drag across the carpet under his desk as he consented to her rule. Cullen climbed the rungs of the ladder with Rhiannon right behind him, and they both squinted in the bright light pouring into the loft from the collapsed roof. Rhiannon snorted as she shrugged out of her winter furs, still unaccustomed to how warm Skyhold was in spite of its frigid surroundings.

"Can't the famed Inquisition afford a roof for the leader of their army?" she asked with a touch of disdain.

"I like the fresh air."

Rhiannon only nodded as she laid her clothing across his bed, noting with a heavy nostalgia how meticulously his bed had been made. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and ran a hand across the smooth, embroidered blanket. Cullen had always been very diligent about making her bed after he shared it with her. She shook her head at herself. Those days were gone, but he was standing right before her.

"Take off your, ah..." Rhiannon wiggled her fingers around her own shoulders.

"Mantle," Cullen supplied with a familiar smile.

"Right," she answered similarly. "And your armor. Don't want to get that wet."

Cullen unclasped the heavy pelt around his shoulders and handed the bundle to Rhiannon, who gently laid it next to her own. He then worked off his greaves, the buckles of his pauldrons and chestplate, handing each piece to her so she could mount them on the stand next to his bed. It was less complicated the plate he wore as a Knight-Captain, although Rhiannon found herself missing the silhouette of his skirt. When he was finally in his undershirt, Rhiannon pointed to the basin and chair under the shaded area of his loft.

"Sit," she commanded.

He complied without protest this time. Rhiannon leaned over him and lightly touched his forehead so he'd lean back further. Cullen shifted in his seat, closing his eyes and sliding his hips forward so he was lower to the basin, while she filled a cup with the cool water.

She lovingly poured the water across his hair, careful to avoid his eyes, and ran her fingers through his locks to loosen the wax. Rhiannon smiled as she watched the wrinkles in his brow soften. She worked in a little soap, gently scratching her nails against his scalp as she brought the suds to a rich lather; a soft, content groan from Cullen made her smile a little wider. She moved both hands through his hair, making sure the residue from his pomade was gone before washing away the suds.

"Is this better?" he asked, patting his damp curls.

Rhiannon grinned, pleased with her work.

"Much." She grabbed a towel and gently rubbed away the excess water. On impulse, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. She almost recoiled, forgetting that they hadn't shared any physical intimacies in over a year, but when he took her magic-scarred hand into his own, any doubt disappeared.

“Is this?” she murmured, nudging the tip of her nose against his temple.

“Much,” he whispered back.

She gave his hand a squeeze and tugged gently, urging him off the chair and leading him towards his bed.

“Rhiannon, I really—” his voice was soft, but she still heard the power behind it.

“Just a few more minutes,” she asked, trying not to sound too pleading. “You work too hard. You don't need to work so hard.”

Cullen hesitated, touching his damp hair once more, and eventually nodded. Rhiannon moved their clothes and eased on the bed, propping herself against the headboard and reaching out for him. Cullen followed and rested his head against her round thigh, wrapping one arm around her legs as she resumed stroking his hair. Rhiannon imbued her fingertips with a touch of healing magic, working away the lingering pressure against his skull as her fingers entwined around his ringlets.

“Maker, I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her leg.

She closed her eyes and shifted, pulling him closer against her.

"I'm not going anywhere," Rhiannon promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Largely inspired by [prose_wanderer's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prose_wanderer/pseuds/prose_wanderer) [Reunion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3746641) <3


End file.
